Statistics
by terrified
Summary: A [random, fluffy] one-shot. Sherlock analyses his statistics with Molly and decides to move things forward.


_**A/N: **I have a massive work deadline looming over me and what do I do to deal with this? WRITE SHERLOLLY OF COURSE. *maniacal laughter* I will cry about work later, but first, on with the Sherlolly! Just a bit of fluff. I like nervous, about-to-confess Sherlock. Here he is, trying to get Molly to move in with him. Haha :) Hope you like! x _

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**Statistics**

"You know, Molly…" Sherlock began as he placed the last of the pipettes on their rack.  
"Mm?" she answered, not looking up from the ten petri dishes in front of her.  
"There are fifty-two weeks in a year."  
"Yes, I know that," she said, finally looking up and walking over to his side of the table.

They were at Baker Street again, working on a few experiments. Half of them were case-related whilst the other half were curiosity-driven. Molly walked to where Sherlock was and leaned against the kitchen counter. She reached for her mug of tea and slowly sipped it.

"As I was saying…" Sherlock said, grabbing his own mug and standing beside her, both of them resting against the same counter.  
"Fifty-two weeks in a year." she continued for him, swirling her tea, "What about it?"  
"For a year now, you've been coming over on Fridays, and staying till Sundays…for our experiments,"  
"Yes," she said, "We both agreed it was beneficial to our work."  
"That makes three days a week that you are here in Baker Street."  
"Y-es. Why all this arithmetic all of a sudden?" she asked.  
"Three days a week, for a whole year. You've spent 156 days in Baker Street since we first started…"  
"Have I overstayed my welcome or something?" she remarked with a chuckle.

Molly sipped the last of her tea and moved to wash it at the sink. Sherlock's eyes followed her, watching her as she scrubbed the mug, ran it under the tap, easily found the dish cloth, dried it and set it back on the rack where it belonged. When she was done, she turned to him and raised an eyebrow, wondering why he was staring so intently at her. Realising she had caught him staring, he averted his gaze and cleared his throat.

"Statistically speaking, Molly…" Sherlock said, finally.  
"It's too much for you, isn't it?" she said with a knowing smirk. "I _told_ you it'd be too…_social_ for you. You _never_ spend this much time with human beings. Not undead ones at least…  
"No, that's not… No!" he exclaimed, catching her by surprised.  
"No?" she asked, raising her eyebrow in suspicion.

Sherlock cleared his throat again and set his own unfinished mug of tea back on the kitchen counter. He stood up from where he had been leaning, whilst Molly had leaned back against her previous spot and had her arms folded. She looked up calmly at Sherlock, and waited for him to continue.

"You've spent 156 days in Baker Street and statistically speaking…" he began, suddenly swallowing nervously.  
"Y-es?" Molly asked calmly.

Sherlock shifted his feet and took a deep breath. He moved his shoulders awkwardly and cricked his neck to one side. He swallowed nervously again and then opened his mouth to speak.

"Statistically speaking, you should start spending more time here," he said, almost mumbling.  
"What do you mean _statistically speaking_?" Molly said with a laugh, "By whose standards are you basing this on?  
"Personal ones…" he mumbled.  
"_Your_ personal statistics?" she asked, unable to contain her amusement.  
"Y-es. Like you said, I never spend this much time with anyone, really. But you are the exception, and I should like it to remain so." he confessed quietly.

Molly had to bite down to prevent a smile from growing. This had certainly been a surprise and certainly statically impossible, judging from Sherlock's history.

"If I agree, would you please stop looking so nervous and lift your chin up?" she said with a chuckle.

Sherlock too, tried to suppress a smile as he lifted his gaze to meet hers. The two of them stared at one another, only to burst into soft, shy chuckles as they remained standing, rocking awkwardly on their heels in the aftermath of Sherlock's rather methodical confession.

"So…" Molly said, finally breaking the silence, "How much more would you like to see me?"

The detective pursed his lips contemplatively as Molly waited for his answer.

"Well now," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, "How do you feel about the violin?"

**END**


End file.
